


understanding

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Gen, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-12 17:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: You've made your own pedestals.





	understanding

**Author's Note:**

> The original of this was written last year, upon request. I've repurposed it for this year's Awesome Ladies Podfic Anthology, in order to try my hand at podfic. I've wanted to try it for a while, but always felt self-conscious because English isn't my first language. I've done it anyway and I hope it isn't too bothersome. This is my first time, so any suggestions you might have upon listening are welcome. Be kind, please, I'm fragile.
> 
> Biggest thanks to [frecklebombfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklebomb/pseuds/frecklebombfic) and [idellaphod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idellaphod/pseuds/idellaphod)  
> , for being my podfic mentors. You're the best. Thank you for your advice and your encouragement.

_**[MP](https://www.dropbox.com/s/k0ul8k9h3nrg3co/%5BWomen%27s%20Soccer%20RPF%5D_understanding.mp3?dl=0)[3 link (dropbox)](https://www.dropbox.com/s/k0ul8k9h3nrg3co/%5BWomen%27s%20Soccer%20RPF%5D_understanding.mp3?dl=0) ** _

The above version includes a short section of stadium sfx. If you'd rather avoid that, a version without is available below:

_**[MP3 link (without sfx) (dropbox)](https://www.dropbox.com/s/7dq4fjwu56fdr72/%5BWomen%27s%20Soccer%20RPF%5D_understanding_noeffects.mp3?dl=0) ** _

 

**Text:**

 

*

 

It goes like this -

you don’t have heroes. You don’t have idols, except for the one that’s round and plastic and a little deflated with how many times you’ve kicked it.

The yellow dirt has strained your shorts, your knees, the spaces between your toes, but you keep running. The sun has just sunk beyond the horizon, and the sky is endless and blue above you, as the street lights turn on, one by one. You dribble around them, pretending they’re kicking at your feet. The local boys exist within a world of whims and judged wrong, some days the streetlights are your only opponents.

Nothing could be simpler than this, just you and the ball, and every shadowed gap an opportunity for a goal.

  
*

“They call you Pele with skirts, what do you think about that?” they ask you.

‘I play in shorts,’ is at the tip of your tongue, but you smile politely instead.

*

“They say you’re the Neymar of the women’s national team, would you say that’s accurate?” they ask you.

‘Perhaps he’s the me of the men’s,’ is at the tip of your tongue and something inside you rages like wildfire, but you smile politely instead.

*

They have never understood.

They saw your records, they saw your goals, they saw the ball, vivid and alive at your feet, and they pretended it meant nothing. They give you a gold painted trophy and they cooed over your pretty dress, and no one cared that you’ve had to move for the third time this year because another of your clubs has collapsed under the weight of its wages.

It’s a good thing you’ve never done this for their understanding.

*

“Did you hear?” they ask you, “About your jerseys?”

‘Have they finally started selling them?’ is at the tip of your tongue, but you smile instead, tilt your head to the side in a way that you know makes you look inquisitive.

And then you learn that they’ve fashioned your name out of scotch tape and yellow cloth because you’ve never disappointed them, because you’ve never let them down.

You smile, politely, because maybe they are beginning to understand.

*

It goes like this-

you score, because it’s what you do, what you enjoy more than anything in the world, and it’s what you’ve given up the world for. Your teammates crowd you, and you smell their sweat, the overworked heat of their bodies.

You spot a hint of yellow at the corner of your eye. You look, and look up, at the crowd of people, your people, wearing yellow and green, and your name scotch taped on the back, and they’re singing, they’re calling your name.

You wonder if they understand.

You had no heroes when you were young. There was no one to show you what the path of a woman in football should look like.

You had no idols, so you made yourself into one, you’ve carved your own pedestals because you knew no one would do it for you. It’s simple, maybe, but it’s yours, and they will belittle it over and over, but they cannot take it away from you.

The wall of yellow towers above you, and beyond it, the endless blue night sky.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for listening/reading!


End file.
